Camille
by Lollipop456
Summary: StiglitzxOC. AU. After a severely wounded Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz stumbles into the Facet family's cafe; he is taken under their wing until he recovers. After awhile, he begins to develop feelings for their daugther, Camille. WARNING:Some dialogue is in French
1. Chapter 1

Camille Facet slept in her little room above her parents cafe. She had worked extremely hard the day before, and was not looking forward to starting another shift this morning. Still, she knew that her parents could not afford to bring in any more employees, and she and her older brother, Louis, were the only servers they could afford to use.

"Camille!" shouted Mrs. Facet.

Camille let out a sigh and crawled out of her bed; she rubbed her eyes and left the room. She went to the top of the stairs and saw her mother waiting impatiently for her.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, mère?" asked Camille.

"Nous ouvrirons bientôt; laver votre visage, et rentrer dans vos vêtements." said Mrs. Facet.

"Oui, Madame."

Camille returned to her room and poured lukewarm water from a pitcher and into a basin. She cuffed her hands together and dipped them in the water, and then splashed her face. After a few more splashes, she grabbed a rag and dried her face.

"Camille pressé, vous devez prendre le petit déjeuner avant de nous ouvrir." shouted Mrs. Facet.

"Je viens, mère!" shouted Camille.

Camille quickly slipped into her clothes, which only consisted of a yellow blouse, and a skirt that fell only inches below her knee. She placed her hair in a low-bun and then made her way downstairs, where her mother and father were preparing the cafe.

"Bonjour." greeted Camille.

"Bonjour, cher." said Mr. Facet, while beginning to brew a warm pot-of-coffee.

Camille looked around the cafe and noticed that a very important person was missing from the staff: Louis.

"Où est Louis?" asked Camille.

"Il est allé à la boucherie, pour reprendre un peu de viande pour les sandwiches. Il sera de retour prochainement."

Camille nodded and began to help her parents, by grabbing a broom and sweeping up the floor. It was her favorite chore, as there really wasn't any trash on the floor; just a few cigarette buds and crumbs from some of the meals.

"Let me in! Please!" A voice shouted.

Camille turned to the door when she heard someone shouting; she dropped her broom in horror, when she saw a man at the door to the cafe, covered from head-to-toe in blood. Camille acted quickly and unlocked the door, and the man collapsed at her feet.

"Mère! Père!" shouted Camille.

Camille's parents heard her calling and ran to the front of the cafe, where they saw her trying her best to stop the man's bleeding wounds.

"Une taverne ... quelqu'un m'a tiré dessus ..." moaned the man.

"Il n'est pas de la France, c'est sûr." said Mr. Facet.

"Monsieur, J'ai appris l'anglais. Maintenant, pouvez-vous me dire ce qui s'est passé?" asked Camille.

The man at first didn't seem to understand what Camille had told him, but after looking at her face, he knew exactly what she wanted.

"I-I was at this tavern...There were Nazis there...All I can remember is killing someone and then...th-then I was here." said the man.

"What is your name?" asked Camille.

"Stiglitz..." The man winced briefly. "Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz."


	2. Chapter 2

Mr and Mrs. Facet helped Sgt. Stiglitz to their bedroom and laid him out on the bed, Camille followed them into the room and removed Sgt. Stiglitz's shirt; to expose the wound and to be sure it was his only injury. It wasn't. His chest had received multiple gunshots, and he also had quite a few stab wounds. The Facets were beginning to wonder how he was able to make it to the cafe in the first place.

"Je vais aller trouver le médecin." said Mr. Facet.

Mr. Facet left the room, while Mrs. Facet and Camille tended to Sgt. Stiglitz's minor wounds.

"Nous devons avoir des bandages quelque part. Restez ici avec le sergent." said Mrs. Facet.

Camille nodded and Mrs. Facet left the room to find bandages. It was only then that Sgt. Stiglitz woke and saw Camille was with him.

"Where am I?" asked Stiglitz.

Camille hushed Stiglitz and brought her hand to his face; carefully wiping away the sweat that was running down from his forehead.

"You'll be all right, Monsieur. You're in my parents bedroom, in our cafe. My father went to find to the doctor, and my mother is looking for bandages. We'll take good care of you." whispered Camille.

"What...What is your name?"

"Camille. Camille Marie Facet."

"Wh-Where did you learn English?"

"That's not important. What is important is your recovery. Try to rest."

Stiglitz closed his eyes and Camille waited until he was asleep to begin tending to the wounds again. Mrs. Facet reentered the room with a fresh roll of bandages, a pitcher, a cloth, and a basin.

"Camille, de l'aide."

Camille took the basin and pitcher from her mother and set them on a small table. She poured the warm water from the pitcher into the basin. Her mother handed her cloth, and Camille soaked it in the water; and then handed it back to her mother, who began to clean the wounds carefully and then cover them with bandages.

"Eh bien, j'ai fait ce que je peux pour les plaies plus petites. C'est selon ce que le médecin maintenant." said Mrs. Facet.

"Pensez-vous que les balles sont encore dans son corps?" asked Camille.

"Seul le médecin vous le savez, mon chéri."

So, Camille and Mrs. Facet waited anxiously for Mr. Facet to return with the doctor. After twenty minutes, they heard the door of the cafe open; only to see that it was Louis returning from running his errands. Naturally, he was surprised to see a dying man laying in his parents bed.

"Qui est-il?" asked Louis.

"Son nom est le Sergent Hugo Stiglitz. Il était dans une taverne, et a été blessé par un groupe de nazis." explained Camille.

"Comment êtes-vous si sûr que c'est la vérité?" asked Louis.

"Pourquoi serait-il pas dire la vérité?" asked Camille.

"Stiglitz. C'est un nom allemand."

"Qu'importe si c'est un Allemand ou pas?"

"Pour tout ce que nous savons, il pourrait travailler avec Hitler."

"Ne pas exagérer, Louis!"

"Louis, Camille, arrêtez votre argumenter et de faire quelque chose d'utile."

Louis stormed out of the room, just as the doctor and Mr. Facet returned. Thankfully, none of the bullets were directly lodged in Stiglitz and the gunshot wounds, while difficult to treat, were cleansed, sutured, and patched. He told the Facets that Stiglitz would need to stay off his feet for a good amount of time: three months to be exact.

When the doctor departed, Camille told her parents that she would watch over Stiglitz into the evening. Around midnight, Stiglitz woke up and was shocked to see that all his wounds had been treated, and Camille was sound asleep in a chair next to his bed.

"The doctor came." said Stiglitz, waking Camille instantly.

"Yes, he did. He told us that you would have to stay in bed for three months, and that you were fortunate to survive."

"Maybe it would be better if I recovered somewhere else. I'm sure there is a hospital that would be willing to admit me."

"Why would you want to do that?" asked Camille.

"I have a feeling that I'm not welcomed here by all of your family."

"You heard him, didn't you?"

Stiglitz nodded and Camille let out a sigh. She then stood and went to refill the basin; she soaked the cloth in the water and then returned to Stiglitz. Carefully, she began to clean the areas that surrounded the bandages.

"The doctor said that this would reduce the chance of infection." said Camille.

"You still haven't told me."

"Told you what, Monsieur?"

"Where you learned to speak English."

"I learned it from a soldier. He was American, but had been born in Germany, and he was stationed in France. Well, he would come to the cafe and he would have a cup of coffee, and then he would give me an English lesson. For five months, I thought of him as a friend and would love it when he taught me."

"What happened?"

"One evening, a band of Nazis came to our cafe and had almost succeeded in burning it to the ground. By God's grace, we were able to stop them and they were removed. It was only a week after that we learned that the solider had been a spy for the Germans, and had told them where we lived. He thought we were a threat to his homeland and to Adolf Hitler."

"That explains your brother."

"Yes. He's never been able to trust another person outside of our family since then."

"What about your parents?"

Camille shook her head. "No, they only speak French. I've been hoping to teach them someday."

Stiglitz began to moan and found himself clutching onto Camille's hand. He had great strength despite his wounds, and Camille began to see her hand turn a shade of purple. After awhile, he released his grip and saw what he had done to Camille's hand.

"I guess that I don't know my own strength." said Stiglitz.

"It's all right. It doesn't hurt, really. Maybe its best if you try to sleep again, you shouldn't be wasting your energy."

Stiglitz nodded and closed his eyes to sleep. Camille gave a smile and covered him with a blanket, and carefully stroked his cheek.

"Bonsoir, Sergent." whispered Camille.


	3. Chapter 3

A week went by, and Stiglitz was beginning to make a slow and painful recovery. The next three months would not be easy, and everyone knew this well; including Louis, who had begun to adjust to the Sergeant's presence.

One day, Camille entered her parents' room and saw Stiglitz trying his best to sit up. She rushed to his side and gently pushed him against the pillow.

"You shouldn't be trying to move, monsieur." said Camille.

"I'm beginning to feel like a piece of wood."

"I know it cannot be easy having to stay in this bed, but it's the only way to ensure your recovery."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

Camille left the room for a moment, and returned with a tray that was carrying a sandwich and a glass of milk. She laid the tray down at the foot of the bed.

"I've made you some lunch. The sandwich is tomato; it's the most popular choice at the cafe."

Camille handed the sandwich to Stiglitz, who sat up against his pillow, and took a bite.

"Monsieur, may I ask you a question?" asked Camille.

"About what?"

"About how you were shot."

Stiglitz stopped eating and looked up at Camille; he laid the remaining bits of the sandwich on the tray, and then folded his arms.

"I've told you what happened: I was at a tavern, when a group of Nazis shot at me."

"I'm not meaning to pry. I had a conversation with Louis yesterday, and-"

"So your brother is asking the questions."

"Some of the things he said had only made me interested in hearing the exact story about what had happened at the tavern."

"There is NOTHING to tell, Fraulein Facet!"

Stiglitz turned away from Camille, but felt her touch his arm.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. I've never meant to upset you." said Camille; her voice soft and gentle.

Stiglitz heard footsteps, and when he turned onto his back again, he saw Camille had left the room. He grabbed his pillow and threw it across the room in frustration.

The same night, Camille was in her room and preparing for bed. She heard a knock on her bedroom door, and went to answer it. To her surprise, it was Stiglitz.

"Sergeant Stiglitz! You should be in your bed. It's not healthy for you to be walking around." said Camille.

"I know what I should be doing. I should be apologizing for my behavior."

"What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't have yelled at you before. I was extremely tired, and becoming very agitated over my recovery. I never should have taken my angers out on you. Especially when you asked me a simple question."

"I understand. It must have been terrible, that shooting. I shouldn't have been a pest."

Stiglitz suddenly took notice of a picture that was pinned to Camille's wall. It was a beautiful painting of the Eiffel Tower. Fascinated by it, Stiglitz stepped into the room and began to examine it.

"Who painted this?" asked Stiglitz.

"I did, monsieur."

"It's very good."

"Thank you."

"Do you have others?"

"I'm afraid that I don't."

"Why not? If you can paint pictures like these, then why not continue?"

Camille sat on her bed and let out a sigh. "That picture was painted in September of 1939. A week before my country declared war on Germany. I've decided not to paint, because that one picture is all I need to remind me."

"Remind you of what?"

"Of how better off we would all be without this damnable war."

"Goodnight, Ms. Facet."

"Should I help you downstairs?"

"No, it's better if I try it by myself."

Stiglitz left the room and closed the door. It was only when he reached his room, that he began to vomit copiously. Not because of his injuries, but because of the guilt that was beginning to consume him.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Camille woke and went downstairs to tend to Stiglitz. When she entered the room, she saw a small puddle of vomit on the floor and Stiglitz laying in bed, seemingly awake.

"I couldn't find any towels." said Stiglitz.

"It's all right, Monsieur. I can clean it up."

After cleaning up the vomit, Camille went to Stiglitz and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Well, you don't seem to have a fever..."

Camille peeked under the sheets and saw that no blood was seeping through the bandages.

"...And you've stopped bleeding."

"I'm just lucky to have a caretaker like you." said Stiglitz.

Camille blushed slightly. "Thank you, monsieur."

"Camille?" said a voice.

Camille turned and saw Louis standing at the door; he did not seem very happy.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, Louis?" asked Camille.

"Puis-je parler à vous seul?" asked Louis.

Camille nodded and turned back to Stiglitz. "Louis needs to speak with me. I'll be back soon." she said.

Louis and Camille stepped out of the room and went outside of the cafe.

"Que vouliez-vous parler, Louis?" asked Camille

"Quit the act, Camille. I can speak English just as well." said Louis.

"I thought you had refused to speak it since the fire."

"Why are you flirting with him?" asked Louis.

"With who?"

"With Stiglitz."

"I am not flirting with him, Louis. I'm taking care of him. You know that Mama and Papa can't help him because they have to run the cafe, and I'm sure you aren't exactly willing to care for a German soldier. He only has me."

"You're becoming too close to him, Camille. I want you to remember who he is."

"He is a man who needs help."

"He's German. You know that he could be a Nazi."

"I know you were when we were betrayed, Louis, but Hugo would never do that. He's far too grateful to hurt us."

"You call him by his first name?"

"I have to go back inside."

Camille returned inside and began caring for Stiglitz again. When he finally fell asleep again, she snuck out of the room and went upstairs to fetch her art supplies. She returned to the room and began to sketch the sleeping Sergeant.


	5. Chapter 5

Camille had been sketching Stiglitz for an hour now, when she was startled when the bedsheets began to rustle. She looked up and saw that Stiglitz was waking up.

"I thought that you didn't like to draw anymore." Stiglitz remarked.

Camille giggled nervously. "Well, it's nothing really. You had been asleep-"

"What is it?"

Camille reluctantly showed Stiglitz the sketch of him. He took it from her, studied it for a moment, and then placed it under his pillow.

"Monsieur, you don't have to keep it."

"I know, but I want to."

Camille smiled and stood from her chair. "I'll find you something to eat."

"No, I want for you to stay. I have something to tell you."

Camille nodded and sat back down, ready to hear whatever Stiglitz had to say. Or so she thought.

"You asked me what happened the night that I was shot, but I never told you in detail. I'm ready to do that now."

"Monsieur, please..."

"You must know. I'm no idiot, Camille. I can tell that my secrets have been bothering you."

Camille sighed in defeat. "Very well. If it makes you happy."

"The night that I was shot...You've heard of the Gestapo, haven't you?"

"Yes." Camille leaned forward and spoke quietly. "They are secret police for Nazis."

"Well, a member of the Gestapo, a major if I remember correctly, was at a tavern with friends in celebration of the birth of a Nazi's baby boy. Things had been going well, when one of our men had given us away. There was many guns, dozens of bodies, and only two survivors: Me and the actress, Bridget von Hammersmark. Even a waitress, an innocent civilian, fell prey to gunfire. I saw her corpse, pale and two bullets to her head. I hope to never see anything like it again."

Camille swallowed, trying to take in everything that Stiglitz told her. She leaned back in her chair and exhaled sharply.

"I'm sorry that the truth is more gruesome than what you've seen in picture-shows or heard on the radio." Stiglitz onto his side, facing away from Camille and showing her the deep scars that ran along on his back. "I had gotten these in prison."

"Prison?" Camille repeated.

"It's no surprise that Nazis don't take kindly to enemies. Every morning, every afternoon, every night...Forty lashes...Sometimes fifty if I had disobeyed. So, now you see, while an innocent life may have been lost and a man will never see his son grow up; this is what they are capable of, the Nazis."

Camille helped Stiglitz turn onto his back and then kissed him on his cheek, her hot tears touching his skin.

"Thank you. Thank you for trusting me." Camille whispered.


End file.
